a fraction of finds, a moment of mind- if you have the time.

My legs are shaking underneath the table and I have this terrible longing to speak. The kind where your ideas are having trouble meeting your mouth and the thought of allowing your sincerity to form words is preposterous. So I come here, because I know someone will listen and I find comfort in the steady clicks between my words. In the silence my thought formulates, in my head I imagine that these thoughts are creating themselves much like the world must have begun. They are small flying matter, that attaches to emotions and other experiences and make a formula that will never be replicated in the history of the world. How can you possibly feel so much for so little, that piece of thought, or rock, or whatever- hurtling through the spaces in your mind and collecting from endless gaps and sequences that explore and re-define the statement "beyond your imagination"? Once you have begun, where do you stop? The are lines and curves in the texture of trees that can never be understood. The crevices in my head keep growing towards a source of unknown energy. A knowledge that I clamor for deep in the roots of my heart. This life, the ticking of the clock face in front of me that is ever moving, reminding me of the stagnancy of my environment, but the bouncing of my limbs acts out my thought.
I am bambling.
which is rambling and blabbering.
Right now I cannot possibly find comfort in myself and must take the time to reject another and lose all known for the unknown.
again
and again
and again.

when will my mind find a mate
in a single thought
or in
fate